Covet Thy Neighbors Posession

I have a deep, dark secret to share that I haven't ever told anyone that I can remember. And I was reminded of this secret when I talked with a friend recently. I have known this preson for almost thirty years, so when I say she is an old friend, I don't mean age. I can't even believe I am old enough to have a friend that long (or nice enough), but I can't escape the math-my old nemesis.
Anyway, when we were growing up, "Mabel" (I don't have her permission to use her name) had a bookshelf. Not some plywood with stone bricks, or some shelving in the closet for toys (that was me). No, Mabel had an honest to goodness bookself. I was envious. I knew the difference between right and wrong, but if I could have, I would have stuck that bookshelf in my back pocket and walked out the front door, no guilt. I wanted it that bad. And I am pretty confident Mabel never knew. And the pathetic part is that I grew up at her house-I saw that bookshelf a lot through the years and everytime, I dreamed of one of my own. Hmmm-apparently nerd-doom starts early.
I finally got my own bookshelf, in college. I gave up the plywood and bricks and found one on sale that I have to this day. I still affectionately call it "my first bookshelf". Ingenius name, I think. And like all parents, I give my kids what I never got-and in this case it is bookshelves. Both of my kids have a three-shelved, black bookshelf that is double the space that Mabels' had. They may be hand-me downs, but they are huge! And I get a cruel chuckle thinking of how cool it is that my kids already have bookshelf, even at their tender age.
So if you are a friend, and I come over to your house, lock up your little bookshelves because if they fit in my pocket, I might be tempted to take them. And I think my sister will be giving her kids ice skating lessons since that is what she never got, but wanted, growing up.
Just something you never knew about me.